Pockets Of Peace

I get this weird sense of profound peace at the most unusual places. Earlier this evening, as my 5-year-old son and I walked from his barber to a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts and then back home, I looked around and felt like there was nothing I wanted more. It was the first time his barber gave him a clean shave of his sideburns with a few skillful swishes of his labaha. Seeing other parents walking home with their little kids in uniforms, I felt one with the world. Folks in their office uniforms were everywhere, some clutching pasalubong for their families, I suppose. It is not easy to explain. But seeing these people made me feel like there is no rat race. There is a human race. And it felt wonderful to be part of it.

Somehow, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d feel the same sense of belonging once we move to our dream house in a dream village somewhere south of Manila. Would the clubhouse or the well-paved streets, or the manicured pocket gardens spread around the village give me the same kind of peace?

I distinctly remember how, once, I walked in pouring rain from a day spent at the library (see July 10, 2009 post).Taxis were hard to come by. People were scrambling to get their rides on buses and jeepneys. I decided against roughing it out with them and pursued the “scenic” route. That meant clutching my old blue umbrella, carrying my book-filled bag on my right shoulder, and walking along the side streets to my home. It was very quiet save for the sound of raindrops hitting my parasol and the faint squish-squash my feet were making against my sandals. The considerable distance to my home did not matter. There was no anxiety about making it home drenched. No worry about kidnappers that may have been lurking in the deserted corners . All I felt was peace and contentment.

Thank God for these pockets of peace.